The Prom Night Continuation
by BespectacledBrunette
Summary: Set on the night of the gang's prom do-over (8x08 "The Prom Equivalency"). After their romantic night, Sheldon and Amy are overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings. Will they ever get to sleep, or is there something that still needs to be said? Shamy fluff.


Amy sank onto the couch, still light-headed from the evening she had just had. First there had been Sheldon in his tuxedo…_hoo_. Then there had been their conversation in his apartment. He had told her she was pretty for the first time in their relationship, finally confirming that he was attracted to her body as well as to her mind. Sure, she had had a sneaking suspicion from time to time – there had been the way his eyes had traced her curves when she had shown up wearing that Nurse Chapel outfit, and on their last date night he had definitely been eying her while she prepared his strawberry Quik – but he had never actually said it, and she hadn't realized how desperately she had wanted to hear those words from his lips until they were lingering in the air and bathing her in pure unadulterated joy.

And then, he had looked into her eyes and said something else…

Amy's happy sigh made Penny look up from the glass of wine she was pouring. Penny smiled. "Had a good night, Ames?"

"Oh bestie, you have no idea." Shaking herself out of her reverie, Amy added, "You're sure you don't mind me spending the night here?"

"Of course not, sweetie. I'm just about to head over to Leonard's, and who knows…maybe Sheldon will give up on his noise-canceling headphones and come over here to join you." Penny winked as Amy flushed.

"I doubt that, but regardless, staying here is much less anti-climactic than driving home to an empty apartment."

Penny nodded. "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. Just um…knock first." With another wink and a laugh, Penny and Sauvignon Blanc whisked out the door, leaving Amy alone in the living room, free to sink fully into her thoughts.

* * *

><p>Sheldon closed the bedroom door behind him and sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers moving to deftly remove his bowtie. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in his bedroom mirror. He really did cut a dashing figure in this tux. "This must be what Bruce Wayne feels like," he whispered to himself, but then another thought rose unbidden: <em>Bruce Wayne wouldn't be removing his own tie tonight<em>. A flush rose to his cheeks as he hurriedly tried to dismiss the thought. _It doesn't matter_. _Amy said it doesn't matter. She understands_.

And that, after all, is what he loved about Amy. Yes, _loved_. It had taken him some time to come to terms with his feelings, time he had spent riding his beloved trains and talking to strangers who all seemed to tell him the same thing: if a woman loved him enough to want to live with him despite all his quirks, to not leave him for someone who could give her the physical intimacy she so clearly wanted, and to forgive him for leaving to ride the rails without even saying goodbye, then that was a woman worth keeping. He had had to admit that his life was much better with her than without her. She understood him in a way no one ever had before – more than his mother or Leonard or even Meemaw. Amy was special. Amy was like him.

He laid his tie aside and began unbuttoning his shirt, thinking back over the events of the night. He had been dreading prom at first, but he had found it surprisingly enjoyable. He liked the way Amy felt warm and soft against him when he slow danced with her, and the way she had smiled at him each time their eyes met throughout the night. He had also rather enjoyed the other guys' double-takes when he and Amy arrived on the roof. _Yes_, he had thought, with overwhelming pride_¸ she is beautiful _and_ brilliant. And she is mine._

As he finished getting undressed, his thoughts strayed further back in time to the conversation outside his bedroom. He had been so terrified to open his door, but the prospect of her leaving without him – and worse, being disappointed by him – was much scarier. So he had opened the door, and with it, his heart. And she had been the same wonderful, understanding Amy she had always been. _She has always been so patient with me_, he thought, grabbing his Saturday pajamas. That's why he had worked so hard to make tonight perfect. Not just for himself but for her. Because no matter how much he struggled to understand why things like proms and tiaras and public hand-holding were important to her, he knew they _were_ important, and he had promised himself while he was away that he would start trying harder to meet her halfway.

That's why tonight, when she was struggling to tell him something, and he had recognized what that something was, he did for her what she constantly did for him: he took the pressure off. He told her what he had known for a while now, and suspected for even longer: that he, Dr. Sheldon Cooper, loved her, Amy Farrah Fowler. There was no other possible explanation for his feelings for her, for why thinking about her made him feel like there was an insect fluttering inside his stomach and why seeing her in that dress sent him into a full-fledged panic attack. The only conclusion was love.

As he climbed into bed, he couldn't help but smile to himself. It really had been a most enjoyable evening. Hopefully Amy felt the same.

* * *

><p>Across the hall in 4B, Amy carefully hung her prom dress on the closet door and shimmied into the most modest nightgown she could find in Penny's dresser. <em>I suppose this is why Sheldon insists on keeping an emergency overnight bag in my apartment<em>, she thought with a smile. _I doubt he'd enjoy finding something of mine to wear as pajamas._

Deciding quickly that she'd rather not sleep in Penny's bed – it had likely been months since those sheets were washed, after all – Amy made her way back to the couch, settling in for a good night's sleep. It really had been a good night. She had finally gotten to go to prom, to dance the night away with her friends, and she had gone with Sheldon Cooper. He wasn't just a date; he was the best date, the perfect boyfriend who _loved_ her. It all seemed too good to be true. _It wasn't always like this_, she thought.

When she was fifteen, Amy had invented the first in a long line of imaginary boyfriends. It had started – as so many things did, at that age – with the teasing of female classmates. They made fun of everything about her: her clothes ("Nice dress! My grandmother has one just like it!"), her hair ("Get Amy to shake her head and we can all have a snow day!"), even her love of monkeys ("Looks like she's finally found her own kind!"). But when Leigh Ann Thompson had made fun of her love of science one day, suggesting that Amy create a Frankenstein boyfriend since that's the only way she'd ever find love, Amy had finally snapped. "For your information, I _have_ a boyfriend."

His name was Edward, and he had been a British exchange student who conveniently attended another school. Far from being a one-time coping mechanism, Edward had frequented her fantasies for years: always devastatingly handsome, undeniably charming, and – most importantly – brilliantly intelligent. She had imagined all sorts of scenarios: the two of them in the lab together, talking science in between impassioned kisses; laying in his arms in the park as he read aloud from _Canterbury Tales_; and, of course, going to prom, where all the girls who had tormented her would look on jealously as Edward twirled her around the dance floor. She had imagined prom a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, with her imaginary perfect boyfriend, but not a single one of those fantasies could begin to live up to the reality of the night she had just experienced.

Of course, Sheldon had been less than enthusiastic about the prom idea, at first. She had expected nothing less. But once he had gotten past his initial alien-roleplay plan – an idea that he had proposed at their relationship meeting and quickly withdrawn upon seeing Amy's devastated expression – Sheldon had resolved to be the perfect prom date. His efforts had been a complete success. He had not complained when she held his hand on the way to the roof, had held her close through several slow dances, and had even given her his jacket toward the end of the night when he noticed goosebumps on her forearms. (She was too happy to be wearing her boyfriend's jacket to explain that the goosebumps were from the sensation of his hands on her hips as they danced, not the night air.) He had been the perfect gentleman he had always been and the affectionate boyfriend she had always wanted him to be. That alone would have been more than enough for this to be the best night of her life.

But then, on top of everything else, he had told her he loved her.

To be honest, Amy had accepted a long time ago that she may never hear those three words from those seductive lips. She knew he cared for her, but he wasn't the type to talk about his feelings, particularly when those feelings could be construed as "hippy-dippy" in nature. Of course, it would have been easy enough to tell him that saying "I love you" was a non-optional social convention, but she knew the end result of that would be more painful than his silence. It was bad enough when he told her that he only held her hand because of his contractual obligation to do so. No, if he was ever going to profess his love, she wanted it to be from the heart.

She had imagined that too – how it might happen. Perhaps after a particularly passionate date night kiss, she would admit her feelings and have him respond in kind. Or perhaps his reciprocation would come weeks or months later, after he had time to process the change in the paradigm of their relationship. She so longed for confirmation of his feelings that the time frame didn't seem to matter, so long as someday he could return the feelings she had been holding inside for years, and could honestly and willingly say "I love you too."

She had never dared to imagine that he would say it _first_.

Yet that was exactly what had happened. She had been stumbling for words, scared of how he might react but consumed by an overpowering need to say what she had been thinking for so long. He had watched her, had known what she wanted to say, and had rescued her by saying it first. _Rescued me…and nearly killed me_, she chuckled remembering her panic attack.

She turned out the lights in the apartment and lay down on the couch, suddenly aware that her face was hurting from smiling so much. _But how can I not smile? He loves me. He really and truly loves me. No doubts. No denial. Just love._

And then, there was the way he had looked at her, his blue eyes more gentle and sincere than she had ever seen them…

No, she thought as her heart rate quickened, as much as she longed to dream about her magical night with her handsome boyfriend, sleep would not come easily tonight.

* * *

><p>Sheldon stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. At first he thought it might be because of the pomegranate juice he had used to spike the punch – he should have realized that it had too much tang to be a suitable nighttime beverage – or because of the disturbing noises emanating from his roommate's bedroom that even his noise-canceling headphones couldn't block out. But no, whatever it was that was keeping him awake went much deeper than that. He was happy, yes, but there was something…missing…from this night. He felt the familiar itch-like sensation flaring up and groaned. Maybe if he went back over the night in his mind, he could figure it out. After all, there was no problem that Sheldon Cooper – given enough time and space to think – couldn't solve.<p>

The night flashed before him as a series of images. Amy stepping out of Penny's apartment in her pretty blue dress. Amy gently reassuring him that they didn't have to spend the night together. Amy having a panic attack when he told her that he loved her. Amy in his arms, slow-dancing on the rooftop under a starry sky.

_Amy._

The words of the psychic came back to him as if through a mist: _Everything will fall into place once you commit to her._ But he had committed to her, and yet something still felt…off. He needed to talk to her. Somehow, Amy must be the answer.

* * *

><p><em>Knock knock knock. <em>"Amy."

_Knock knock knock. _"Amy."

_Knock knock knock._ "Amy."

She stirred at the sound, at first not sure if she was really awake or if this was just an extension of her dream. When a second iteration of knocking began, she finally rose from the couch, picked up her glasses from the coffee table, and made her way to the door.

Sheldon had just finished saying her name when the door opened, and his breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a nightgown, but not one of her normal nightgowns; this must be one she had borrowed from Penny. It was long by Penny's standards, reaching Amy's knees, but her arms and shoulders were bare.

Amy eyed him curiously. He looked oddly disheveled for Sheldon, with a kind of fervor in his eyes that she had never noticed before. _If he were anyone but Sheldon_, _I would think this was a booty call_, she thought to herself with a small smile, but it seemed unlikely that he had conquered his fears in a few short hours, regardless of how magical and romantic those hours had been.

"Sheldon, are you okay?"

Her words snapped him out of the blur of thoughts and emotions that had encapsulated him, reminding him that he should probably explain his appearance at her door in the middle of the night. But how to explain? His mind scrambled for the right words, the right phrases to express what he had been thinking or to describe the feelings that coursed through his veins when he looked at her. All he could manage was a simple "I couldn't sleep."

She smiled gently. "Would you like to come in and talk?"

He nodded with a gulp. She opened the door wider to allow him to enter, then followed him to the couch. On the way, he suddenly paused, turned to her, and asked, "Are you cold?"

At first she was confused. "No, I'm fine…are you…" Her voice trailed off as she watched him nervously avert his gaze and then realized how much skin she was showing. "Maybe it would be better if I put on a robe. I'll go find one of Penny's."

"No need…you can have mine." Before she could even pretend to protest, he was standing in just his pajamas with the garment extended toward her. She smiled, took it, and slipped it over the borrowed nightgown, tying it securely closed in the front. This seemed to satisfy him, and he sat down on the couch. Amy sat next to him, careful to leave enough space as not to crowd him.

"Did I wake you?" he finally asked.

"Well…yes," she admitted, "but I had only just drifted off to sleep myself. I've had…a lot on my mind." She gave him her best reassuring smile, which he nervously returned.

"Me too." He sighed. "Amy…I…I really enjoyed tonight."

"I'm glad," she replied. "But you sound more anxious than happy."

She waited patiently as he sat rigidly, hands clasped in his laps, eyes downcast. Finally he said softly, "I enjoyed tonight so much that I…I don't want it to end."

Her heart skipped a beat, and it took every ounce of restraint in her body to hold back the squeal building up inside of her. "Sheldon…"

"I'm still not ready for coitus, Amy," he added quickly.

"I know," she reassured him. "I'm perfectly happy just spending time together. What would you like to do? Watch one of your Star Trek movies? Play counterfactuals?"

He bit his lip, and she knew him well enough to tell that he had something in mind but was hesitant to say it. At long last, he gulped hard, gave her one of those sexy little smirks she loved so much, and said, "Actually…at this moment, I find myself craving human intimacy and physical contact." Then he wiggled his eyebrows, and her heart melted.

"Oh boy. And what do you propose, Dr. Cooper?" she whispered hoarsely.

He hesitated again, but only for a moment. "We cuddle."

Her smile widened. "That sounds agreeable. However, I must ask" – and here her voice took on a teasing tone – "what happened to Dr. Sheldon Cooper not being anyone's snuggle bunny?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes, even while pulling her close to him. "You're a vixen, Amy Farrah Fowler. An irresistible vixen."

* * *

><p>Sheldon lay perfectly still, looking down at the mass of wavy brown hair pressed against his chest. He had never felt quite so close to Amy before – although, of course, a high degree of closeness was required to keep one or both of them from falling off Penny's couch. He had thought briefly of waking her so he could return to his apartment and they could both sleep comfortably, but just as he was about to whisper her name she had hugged him a little tighter in her sleep and he had decided that maybe this wasn't so uncomfortable after all.<p>

Not that he could sleep anyway. His thoughts were still racing, and the seductive scent of her hair wasn't helping. He had thought that maybe talking to her and holding her would be enough; but he still had the persistent notion that there was something else that needed to be said or done before his heart rate could return to normal and his anxiety would abate. Leonard would guess that he was – he cringed at the word – _horny_, but that wasn't it. It was something deeper than that.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Amy stir against him, and he watched as she tilted her head to sleepily meet his gaze. Her eyes seemed to be shining more brightly than usual, and her mussed hair was perfectly framing her face. He found himself thinking she had never looked more beautiful. Maybe that's what he needed to say. That she wasn't just pretty. That she was breathtaking, and there were moments when he looked at her that he never wanted to look away…

"Sheldon."

"Yes?" he whispered.

"You can't be comfortable like this. You can go if you'd like. I'll come by to see you in the morning before I go home."

His hesitation surprised them both. Finally, though, he gave a slow nod. "We do both need sleep. And this couch is hardly suited to someone of my…stature."

"Agreed," Amy replied, wriggling into a sitting position so that Sheldon could extract himself from the couch. Realizing that she was still wearing his robe, she started to slip it from her shoulders, but he quickly and silently stayed her hand with his own.

"Keep it," he said quietly. Then, as he stood and stretched his cramped limbs, he calmly added: "I think, for future experiments, a bed would provide more optimal conditions for prolonged physical contact."

Their eyes met, and a small _hoo _escaped her lips, causing Sheldon to smile even more broadly.

"Goodnight Amy," he said, striding to the apartment door and opening it. He was just starting to close it behind him when he heard her voice.

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"I just realized I never said…I love you too."

"I know," he answered, flashing his best Han Solo grin, and then crossed the hall to 4A.

* * *

><p>In bed once more, Sheldon felt more at peace than he had in a long time. The itchy sensation in his brain was gone, replaced by a giddy, light-headed feeling much like he had experienced when first meeting Stephen Hawking. This, though, was even better than meeting Stephen Hawking. Better than getting Leonard Nimoy's DNA. Better, even – and this surprised him most of all – than the feeling he got when he was in his spot and all felt right with the world.<p>

Satisfied, he drifted into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
